Drain Away
by Ashe Romeo
Summary: Dying from needles and love. It's like a nightmare demon coming in through the windows. He's like the devil come the first time, breaking in a window with a body of wounds and syringes full of poison blood.Francesca Lia Block
1. Chapter 1

It was getting close to four in the morning when Lucian Charlemagne decided that he had a headache, and thus an excuse to pop the pills.

Weak and weary from the misery of the day, he peeled himself off of the mattress on the floor and staggered to the bathroom. Of course, he was still drunk, so the crummy apartment seemed to bob and sway with every graceless, stumbling footfall. Despite his severe intoxication, however, he was able to flick on the light switch, wrench the doorknob a few times, and stagger into the filthy washroom without bumping into too many things in the process.

It sucked, being this hammered and unable to sleep.

Standing wasn't difficult, he just didn't _feel _like standing, and so he let his posture sag, his emaciated hands gripping both sides of the sink. He wasn't going to throw up. He was just…dizzy. That was all.

"Oh _fuck _me," he mumbled to himself, the greasy mop of straw-blonde hair obscuring his visage and thus his view of his own reflection. "Fuck…fuck…where the FUCK did I—oh shit…"

The pills.

He had a bottle of vicodin—Christmas gift of a friend of a friend. He had come into the bathroom for them, hadn't he? But where the hell had he _put _them? Medicine cabinet? Linen closet? His eyes squeezed shut as he tried to quell the room's spinning, tried to navigate the suddenly murky depths of his memory—where?

Dizzy, dizzy, dizzy.

_Lucian._

"Yeah, I know, little sister. Just…just gimme a sec."

His right hand slipped on the slick porcelain, groped, groped, felt around a small, orange prescription bottle, and carried it to his mouth. He tilted the lidless container and swallowed four, five, six pills. Maybe seven, maybe eight. _He _sure as hell wasn't counting. Fuck.

Dizzy.

Thus accomplished, he allowed the now-empty container to slip from his grasp and fall to the grimy tiles in a clatter that he did not hear in his state of inebriation. The soapy taste of the painkillers lingered rather unpleasantly, but it was also a taste he was quite used to.

_Really _fucking dizzy.

His reflection looked haggard. Ghostlike.

"Cheers," he said to the junkie in the glass, and then his legs decided to stop functioning. His knees buckled, and he collapsed gracelessly to the floor.

Was it the booze this time, or was it the vic?

Who knew, who cared?

It wasn't like he _couldn't _get up off the ground, either. He just didn't _feel _like it.

His lips twisted into a haphazard sort of grin.

"I'm coming little sister…." he mumbled, barely able to hear his own voice over his suddenly hammering pulse. Saliva dribbled out from between his parted lips, and began to pool on the floor beneath him. He tried to wipe it away but his arms were too heavy. Fuck that.

"Don't you worry, little sister, I'm—"

The booze, or the vic? He shot up earlier, didn't he? Yeah. That too. What else had he taken that day, that night alone? Couldn't have been too much. Besides, he wasn't drunk, he was just a little tired, he could get up any time he felt like it.

Black.

And then…red.

His eyes eased open slowly, and he found he was able to blink the dizziness away. Oh, so he'd passed out again, had he? Cute. Lori would be pissed as hell at him, but fuck that, she was always nagging about _some _shit anyways—

_Lucian._

"Huh?"

The voice he heard wasn't in his head this time.

Peculiar.

One hand instinctively folding over his should-be aching forehead, the other flattening against the wood floor, Lucian waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness.

Wait.

_Darkness?_

_Wood _floor?

The _fuck?_

Blinking confusedly, Lucian looked around himself, trying to take in his surroundings. There were nothing more than vague humps in the shadows, indication of furniture or some other inanimate objects.

Clearly, he wasn't in the bathroom like he thought he was.

His teeth sinking into his lower lip, palms pressing against his closed eyes, fingers gouging at his greasy hair, panic began to manifest itself in the form of vague tremors.

This was bad. Very, very bad.

Well, not _so _bad.

It certainly wasn't the _first _time he'd woken up in a place that was totally unfamiliar to him by _any _stretch of the imagination. This had happened before, and it would _definitely _happen again. He just needed…to figure out where he was.

Yeah.

That was it.

Nodding in the attempt to reassure himself, he relaxed his hands, let them drop, and fumbled in his pockets for his old lighter. Feeling its familiar, worn-and-scratched surface was somewhat of a comfort, and so was the small halo of light it produced when he flicked the dial and coaxed forth a flame.

"All right," he said. "Okay."

Unfortunately, his surroundings looked not in the _least _bit familiar.

Those lumps in the darkness that he had managed to discern were indeed furniture. They looked like…benches. Benches aligned…in rows?

Pews.

Okay, so he was in a church?

A worn tapestry depicting a cross was folded over one of the pews. It confirmed his estimation, but it did nothing to assuage his fears. How the hell had he ended up in a _church? _There certainly weren't any in the neighborhood he lived in. Hell, he hadn't even set _foot _in a church since-

_Lucian._

Not funny!

This was NOT FUNNY!

His teeth found his lower lip again, and every muscle in his body clenched, or so it felt. His hands began to shake, jeopardizing the meager light he had been able to produce.

The first few times, he thought he'd been dreaming. He thought he'd been high, or drunk—under the influence. It was _okay _to hear her voice, okay because it wasn't really _real—_he'd been thinking about her anyways, so—

_Lucian._

Where was it coming from? He spun around once, twice…the flame threw light in places that shouldn't have been illuminated, and evil shadows bore their claws.

That way? It was coming from…that way?

Deciding on a random direction, Lucian held the lighter out in front of him and walked. He wasn't hearing it anymore. Maybe he _had _just imagined it?

Pews and pews. Dust. Silence.

He had begun to hyperventilate, in his excitement and fear. His erratic breathing was the only sound. He had stopped before what he assumed was the altar, and that was a dead end. Except for-

"Hey," he said, his rasping voice sacrilege in the preserved silence. "Hey!"

It was standing with his back to him, whatever it was, and it had long, long hair. Blonde? Brunette? He couldn't quite tell…the light wasn't really doing its job. Whatever it was, it was making him more anxious, but he didn't quite have the courage to grab it by its shoulder and spin it around.

So again, for the third time-"Hey!"

Silence.

"I don't know what I did wrong," it said.

No way. No fucking way. This was getting too personal, too close to the heart. It-whatever it was-sounded too much like _her_ for this to be safe anymore. Like it was safe to _begin _with.

"What is this," he nearly growled. "Turn around!"

And it did.

When it showed its face, he saw that it was not an "it" at all. It was a young woman, and a rather pretty one at that. Blonde hair, he could somehow discern that particular feature, and soft, blue eyes.

"Lucian," she whispered.

"Nuh uh," he said. "No fucking way. This is a dream. A trip. I'm not seeing this right now."

"Please, Lucian."

Her eyes brimmed with imploration, but there was something wrong. Something _horribly _wrong. A dark liquid was seeping out from between her lips, dribbling down her chin, and dripping to the floor in muted _pat-pat _sounds.

"I can't do this," he mumbled to himself. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, I can't."

He tried to turn, to run away, but his legs decided not to work again. So he clamped his hands over his ears and shut his eyes.

"Six hundred sixty six," he mumbled, "six hundred sixty five, six hundred sixty-FUCK!"

She was touching him, touching his shoulders. He opened his eyes, and her face was right before his. He made a squeaky moan in the back of his throat.

"Please, Lucian."

It was dark now, but somehow he could see that it was blood coming out of her mouth.

"I've been waiting…so…long…"

Light.

Lucian really _did _scream when he saw the light, the great, bright dazzle of it. He screamed…and fell backwards? He_ must_ have fallen backwards, because…he was on his back?

On his back…in a hospital room.

"You're one lucky sonofabitch," the doctor said, "you know that?"


	2. Haze

"You have to go to rehab, Lucian," she was saying. It hurt to look at her. Not because he felt guilty, oh no, it was just that everything about her appearance was offensive to him, somehow. The roots showing through her bleach-blonde hair. The hollowness to her cheeks and to her eyes. The gaudiness of her huge, hoop earrings, the excessive quantity of her makeup.

"Whatever," he said.

The IV tube in his arm itched. He wanted badly to tear it out, but he'd yet to regain total mobility of his limbs. They still felt foreign and heavy to him, and the aftertaste of the charcoal in his mouth still made him want to retch.

"You're lucky to be _alive, _you know," she went on, when she realized she hadn't struck a nerve. "You almost _died."_

Lucian groaned. He had a headache, and Lori wasn't helping it go away.

"I'm sure I did, little sister," he told her. "Do you have any cigarettes?"

Her facial expression changed in an instant. What was once feigned concern had swiftly become senseless anger.

"I thought you said you were gonna QUIT!" she nearly shrieked. "And stop calling me that!"

"Calling you what," he mumbled, not paying attention. He always tuned her out when she got like this, tuned her out and focused on something else. Right now it was the wraithlike moans of some other, elderly patient…an incessant drone that had gone on for hours on end. Nothing the nurses gave her seemed to have eased her pain, and while other patients had complained, it had become monotonous, almost soothing to Lucian.

"—it's just _weird, _Lucian. Like something some serial killer would say."

"I'm not a serial killer," he said absently.

"Well stop _acting _like one!"

"Okay…"

Briefly, Lucian wondered how the conversation had managed to shift away from his needing to go to rehab to his showing qualities of a serial killer, but he didn't contemplate the matter for very long. Something _else _had gained his attention.

"Sweetheart," he said, "how come my hand's all bandaged up?"

"You burned yourself," she said offhandedly. "They don't know how. What the hell were you _doing _last night?"

_Burned _himself?

He felt sick all of a sudden, sick to his head, to his stomach.

"I don't know. I had…this…dream," he told her, after a brief hesitation. Was "dream" the word he was even looking for? Trip, fantasy, hallucination—

"A dream?" Lori repeated. She didn't sound like she really cared, though. Oh well.

"Yeah," he said, his voice trailing. "I don't know where I was, but I think I saw…"

She leaned close to him…too close.

"Saw what?"

_I don't know…what I did wrong._

_Please, Lucian._

_I've been waiting…so long._

Soft blue eyes. A mouth full of blood and hands as cold as death.

Yeah, it looked like her. But there was no way…that it could have _been _her.

A dream. That was all.

"Nothing," he said. "Nothing, never mind."

Her hand found his forehead, smoothed back the greasy tangles.

"Get some rest, Lucian."

"All right…little sister."

His eyes wanted to close, so he let them. Sleep came almost as soon as he did, but when he regained consciousness again, he noticed immediately that there was still a hand upon his forehead.

"Lori," he groaned.

"No," was the response.

His eyes snapped open, saw nothing but darkness. The icy blues lolled in his skull, wildly in search of that will-o-wisp voice. Nothing. No one. But still, that hand on his forehead.

"Where are you?" he said, having undone the vice in his throat.

"I'm right here," was the response. "Like I've always been."

He looked right, and was able to discern her silhouette. The flimsy curtain that separated him from the rest of the emergency room was parted very slightly, and a thin beam of light was shining through.

It was then that he realized…something was very wrong.

There is no "night time" in an emergency room. 24 hours a day, the lights are on. Nurses and doctors are constantly bustling about because patients are constantly being rolled in from ambulances. There is always-_always-_someone awake.

Yet Lucian heard no voices. No lights were on.

Had he been _moved? _

No. He was in the same bed. He recognized the same equipment. There was definitely a curtain around the hospital cot…no indication at all that he'd been moved to a room.

All right. So what the _hell _was going on?

"Who are you?" he asked.

Cool fingers gently combed through his hair, then the hand withdrew entirely.

"You have to come find me."

_Come find me. _Those words struck a chord of unease within him, strummed a tune of terror like the vibrations of a flailing insect caught in a black widow's web.

"Find you? Where?"

He couldn't see her face. He could see the blonde of her hair, but not her face.

"Where it begins for us, Lucian. You'll have to remember."

"Remember what?"

Far off in the distance, he heard that same old woman groaning in her sleep. The wheels of a hospital cot screeched on the tiles. A nurse's kind voice was explaining the effects of a drug to a nearby patient. Slowly but surely the hospital was coming back to life, but his one, sequestered cubicle was still shrouded in darkness.

"Stop denying…who I am."


	3. Revelations

"What are you reading?" Lucian asked, peering rather dazedly in Lori's general direction. He was due for release later on that afternoon, but was being kept for observation in the meantime. Observation, of course, that was performed by a rather disgruntled-looking nurse thumbing through last month's _Vogue._

Lori looked up at him, and offered a rather trembly smile. He scared her, he realized, he really freaked her out with this whole overdose business. Who knew what all the doctors had been telling her. It saddened him, slightly, to realize that he didn't much care.

"Newspaper," she told him. "Found it in the lounge. I think I'm gonna go."

She leaned over, kissed him rather briefly on the forehead, and dropped the edition in his lap.

"You were talking in your sleep," she informed him.

"Was I?" he mused.

"Yeah," she said, averting her gaze and fiddling unnecessarily with her earrings. "See you, Lucian."

She rose to her feet, and vacated the emergency room as quickly as her scuffed, high-heeled shoes could carry her. He watched her go, realizing that it was probably over, and couldn't force himself to feel anything. Gnawing on his lower lip, he picked up the paper with the intention of amusing himself until noon, and immediately the world swam out from under him in a sudden, jarring wave of shock when he read the headline.

__

Jane Doe Admitted into Brookhaven Hospital.

Patient found wandering near the Wish House orphanage in Silent Hill, admitted for psychiatric care. Identity, as of yet unknown--

A photograph was stationed near the text, a rather blurry black-and-white image depicting a young woman with long, pale hair. There was a look of vacancy in her eyes.

Her.

Sitting up in the hospital bed, Lucian immediately flipped open the paper to where the story was.

__

A Caucasian female, 5'7". blonde, blue eyes, presumably 23 to 26 years of age was found wandering in the forest by two lumber workers, last week in Silent Hill.

"She wasn't wearing anything but this thin nightgown, and it was freezing," recalls Sam Letham, one of the lumber workers who found her. "We couldn't get anything out of her, not her name, not anything. She just kept mumbling to herself and crying."

The two quickly brought the Jane Doe to the local Brookhaven Hospital, where she is now undergoing psychiatric care.

"This woman is obviously very deeply traumatized," states Dr. William Brusche. "Any information regarding her identity would be very greatly appreciated."

Lucian's eyes swam back to the photograph, and he felt a sick churning in his stomach. He suppressed the urge to vomit up his scrambled eggs and dry toast.

__

You're supposed to be dead. They told me you died. You're not supposed to be alive.

"Nurse," he moaned. "Nurse!"

The disgruntled young _Vogue _reader looked up from her magazine, looking rather annoyed.

"Yeah?" she said.

"I need to leave," he told her. "I need to go right now."

"Doctor said you're being released at twelve. You need a follow-up," she informed him, examining her manicure.

"Look, little sister," he said, mindless of the disturbed quirk of her brows as he used that particular endearment, "I need to leave _now."_

"Why are you in such a hurry?" she asked him.

Lucian closed his eyes, closed them tight against his impatience.

"My sister," he choked. "My sister's…in danger."

At this, the nurse looked genuinely surprised. She actually put down the magazine, stood up, and wandered over to his cot, her hands tight on the handles of her hips.

"Your girlfriend there said you didn't have no family," she told him. "She said that she was all you had."

"Yeah," he said, "I lied."

He closed his eyes again, his head throbbing. He fancied he heard something like a siren in the back of his mind, saw bright, flaring red in the outskirts of his vision. It was somewhat of a miracle that he heard what she said next.

"-would you lie about something like that?"

"Because sometimes," he replied, at great length, his teeth grinding into his lower lip hard enough to hurt, "you have to lie about where you came from."

He was silent for a full minute, until the headache subsided and he no longer saw the red in the corners of his eyes.

"All right," the nurse finally said. "Go. I just have a weird feeling about you, kid. I'm not gonna lie."

It would have been a bald-face lie if Lucian told himself he was not stunned by his own success.


	4. Riders on the Storm

IV

Of course, it was his luck that as soon as he left the hospital, it began to rain. It wasn't just a light drizzle, either, it was _torrents _of it, great sheets of precipitation that seemed to make the buildings sink into the ground. Running with the newspaper over his head for protection, Lucian made his way across the street and into the haphazard shelter of a bus station. Shaking his beaten trench coat free of water, he sat down between two elderly people and immediately reached into his pocket for a cigarette. There weren't any, and he cursed under his breath.

He had three dollars and some change to his name at the moment, and three dollars wasn't going to get him very far. He would have to bus it to South Ashfield, and most likely hitchhike or walk along the highway in order to get to Silent Hill.

Was he _really _doing this, he thought to himself, picking the dirt out from under his long fingernails. When he found himself climbing onto the bus without hesitation, he realized that he was, and was slightly disturbed by how easily he was going along with this particular hunch.

__

It's probably not even her, said logic. _You see a blonde girl in the paper and go chasing after shadows._

But it _was _her. He didn't doubt it at all for some reason, didn't doubt it one bit.

The rain ran down the windows in thick, streaming rivulets that reminded him, for some reason of insects--of slugs writhing about.

Mildly disgusted by his own imaginings, he leaned back in the seat as far as he could and closed his eyes, momentarily allowing his hearing to drown out all other senses.

An old woman was having a coughing fit, not too far away from him. Towards the back of the bus, or so he thought, a toddler was whimpering in fear. He could hear his mother trying to soothe him, her voice a low murmuring of nonsensical nothingness.

The rain pounded.

Slammed.

He _really _wished he had a cigarette.

"Hell with this," he mumbled, abandoning his initial intention of falling asleep on the way to South Ashfield. He opened his eyes, stretched as much as he was able, and picked up the newspaper which he had used as an umbrella of sorts. The rain had blurred the lettering considerably, but _her_ picture was still there. She looked up at him through her blurry veil of bad newspaper photography, her vacant eyes full of secrets and accusations.

__

Accusations?

Now _that _was a hell of a thought. Lucian actually cracked a grin at that, but there was no humor at all behind it, it was the kind of grin adorned by rotting skulls in graveyards.

She had nothing to accuse him about. Really. She didn't.

It was not long before the bus pulled into its stop--a dumpy little station in the outskirts of South Ashfield. Lucian was the only one to get off, and as soon as he did--once again, with luck being on his side--the storm got even _worse. _Thunder roared overhead, indignant at some heavenly atrocity, and lightning illuminated the dingy sky in bright bursts of electric malice.

"Excellent," Lucian mumbled, tossing the paper on the ground, shoving his hands deep in his pockets, and proceeding up the road that would lead him to town. He was not phased by the noise of the storm.

Of course, he could definitely think of someone--a pretty, petite, _blonde _someone, with huge blue eyes--who was horrified of thunder and lightning, someone who would cower under the covers and whimper, clinging to him for comfort.

__

You're not going to get anywhere if you keep thinking that way.

It really was an awful part of town, he thought instead, peering up over his lapels and through the wet veil of the pouring rain. Boarded-up windows, police tape, garbage and all that. Not his preferred surroundings, and he had a _hell _of a lot of walking to do.

There was a beer can on the ground near his feet. Mildly, senselessly indignant, he kicked it and sent it shooting into a gutter.

"Straight-edge," he mumbled, and smiled, though it certainly wasn't funny.

"Hey!!"

Oh _dear._

He heard the call, but chose to ignore it. He couldn't remember the last time he was in this area, couldn't remember whether or not he had screwed over a dealer or promised a girl he'd call her again…hell, couldn't remember whether or not he had fucked the dealer's _girlfriend _or not, it had been a _really _fucking long time--

"Hey YOU!!"

Well, no reason to pretend he was deaf, he _was _the only one around.

Sighing deeply, preparing himself for confrontation, he quit his stride, and turned to the left, where a late-model Taurus was idling along the side of the road.

"Yes?" he inquired.

The one who had tried for his attention was a redheaded woman with one hand on the wheel and the other flicking ash from a cigarette. He couldn't see her very clearly.

"I was gonna offer you a ride," she said. "It's pouring out."

Lucian took about five seconds to assess the situation.

Well, he certainly hadn't expected anyone to just up and _offer _him a lift, that was for one, and two, this bitch had cigarettes. _There _was something at least.

"Aren't you worried about ruining your upholstery?" he inquired, smiling a smile that was really quite charming, despite his drug-ravaged features. It set him back a few years.

"No," she said mildly, and opened the front door. "Go on, get in."

Shrugging, he slid into the car, and didn't realize that he was cold until he felt the heat blasting onto him. His teeth began to chatter violently.

"So where're you heading anyways?" his savior inquired, and he glanced up at her.

The first thing he noticed was the fact that she was a _fake _redhead. He could tell, by the unnatural way the light shone through the strands. Her eyes were two pale, huge things in their sockets, and she smoked Turkish Golds. She inhaled deeply of the cancer, and flicked ash out the window.

"Silent Hill," he said, fully expecting her to toss him out of the vehicle. But she didn't. She smiled (_cherry ice cream smile, I suppose it's very nice, _he thought, crazily) and put the car in drive.

"That's good for you…I'm heading up that way."

He watched intently as she reached into the glove compartment, and removed her pack of cigarettes.

"Would you like one?" she inquired, as if reading his mind.

"Please," he said, and she handed one over without hesitation, along with a little book of matches. He thanked her, lit the cigarette, and inhaled deeply, feeling mildly dizzy from the first-nicotine-in-two-days feeling.

"I'm Lucian," he said, in between puffs.

"Sam," she replied. "Sam Poppy."

Lucian chuckled, watching the windshield wipers cut rhythmic patterns across the glass.

"That _can't _be your real name," he said. "No offense."

"No offense taken," she replied, "but it _is _my real name."

"Oh really," he smirked.

"Yup."

There was no one else on the highway. He glanced at the speedometer and noticed that she was going at least twenty over the limit.

"What's your business in Silent Hill?" she inquired, her grey eyes fixed on the road ahead.

He sighed, looking at his cigarette stub, wishing it were longer.

"I'm looking for my sister," he said.

"Oooh," she said delightedly, in the tone a housewife might adopt, when stumbling across a juicy bit of tabloid gossip. "You'd best watch out, honey. You don't want to end up like that fellow who went up looking for his wife a few years back, and never came home."

"I heard about that," he said.

"Heard that place is dangerous," she continued, but she didn't sound frightened at all. She had to have a strong backbone, to have picked up a stranger like him to begin with. "_All _kinds of weird shit goes down up in those parts. The rumors and stuff."

"Yeah," he replied.

__

Rumors.

That sick throbbing had begun in the back of his head again, the dull pounding that sent flares of red shooting across his vision.

"--cult stuff going on in that town…HEY! You okay?"

His eyes lolled to the left. Sam Poppy was looking at him, and shock had broken her delicate features into jagged contours.

"Unh?" he said.

"You're bleeding--" she said, and reached a hand towards him. It was the last thing he saw clearly before she accidentally floored the gas pedal, and the Taurus began to skid out of control on the rain-slicked highway. He could sure _hear _her for awhile, he could hear her screaming Hail Marys (_were _they Hail Marys?) into the storm-shattered sky, and then there were the guardrails, and everything turned upside down.

Red.

Black.


End file.
